Wanting To Be Better For You

Dear Son,

In my mind one when you’re old enough to read this the internet will be replaced by some virtual reality world that makes Google and Facebook look like the slowest things on earth. Until that day comes though I want you to know something, I’m trying my best to be a better man for you. I want you to have a father you can be proud of.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve gradually toned downed the drinking, I’m eating apples for breakfast instead of bacon. Today after work I’m going to get some mint, cucumbers, limes and water to make some drink that’s supposed to make me feel better. I want to show you how to throw a baseball, how to grip a football. I want to be there when you read your first words and write your first letter.

I’m 31 so depending on when I meet your mother there’s a good chance I’ll be in my 50’s when you’re a teenager. I can’t let you beat me in basketball until you’re at least 16. In order to do that I have to do better, I have to be better. Most of my life I’ve let writing consume me. The late nights, the missed meals, the drinking, it’s all been so that I can be a better writer. I suppose I never thought about what sort of man it was making me.

I never had a father that expected anything from me because he didn’t expect anything from himself. I don’t fault him for that because it just wasn’t in him, when I was younger it made me cold. Now it gives me perspective, responsibility. I look forward to placing expectations on you, not to be what I want you to be but to be happy. To know you’re loved and cared for. I’ll expect good grades and for you to eat your vegetables and say yes maam and no maam because that’s what I’ll teach you, that’s what we will teach you. I write these letters because tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone. If I die when you’re a child, I want you to read these and know you were loved before I ever laid eyes on you.